


After the Storm

by aeoleus



Category: The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Fever, Gen, Its whump its just plain whump, Pneumonia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, Team as Family, i love ya mark but ya gonna suffer, this is a break-it fic, this is like the opposite of a fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: After they pick up Mark, everyone is happy and healthy and safe and we're ready for the credits to roll, right?Nope.You don't escape a year and a half alone on a planet that is actively trying to kill you without a scratch. Which is exactly what the crew is going to learn when Mark comes down with a terrible fever and the cracks in the facade he's put up begin to show just exactly what Mars did to him.





	1. run and run as the rains come

The first 72 hours after the rendezvous were like a wonderful daydream Beth never wanted to wake up from.

There were times she would wake up in the morning half convinced that it had all been a dream, but then, when she went to get coffee, she would find Mark sitting on the counter, laughing at some dumb joke Rick had cracked.

And Mark. He seemed so….well-adjusted. For the first few days, at least, he was. He was sleeping normal and eating good portions, even if he was making horribly cartoonish sounds as he was doing it. He was banged up and bruised, but Chris couldn’t find any major issues. Or so he thought. He warned them, in a quick team meeting after he put Mark to bed that first night, that problems could manifest after everything settled down. Beth had brushed it off. Mark was alive! What could go wrong that was worse than being stranded on Mars?

 

Beth, you fucking idiot.

 

She should have knocked on wood. But thanks to NASA and their weird obsession with “not causing a fire in a vacuum” or whatever dumb reason it was, this entire spaceship was devoid of wood.

 

At least, that’s how she justified it to herself when Mark slumped into the common area at 11 AM, several hours later than he had been getting up the last few days, and, to put it nicely, looked like complete shit.

 

“You look like complete shit.” Beth said. She sipped her coffee and watched him stop in his slow path to the cabinets and raise his head to give her an annoyed look.

“Good morning to you too, Beth.” He said. Huh. That's weird. Mark usually would have jabbed back at her. His voice was scratchy, too. He grabbed a juice pouch and sat next to her at the table, trying to poke the straw through the top. He kept missing, and Beth finally took pity on him after the fifth try.

“Give it to me, dummy.” She grabbed it from his hands and poked the straw through, and handed it back. He sipped the juice and glared at her. His eyes were hazy.

“Don’t you, like, have to be nice to me now,” He asked. “Since I’ve been through a “traumatic experience” or whatever.”

“I am being nice.” Beth scrunched up her nose. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Mark shrugged. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Beth pulled up an article she had queued on her tablet. When she finished the dregs of her coffee, she looked over to find that Mark had fallen asleep, hands still around the juice pouch. His skin was obviously flushed.  She rolled her eyes. He was sick. He was definitely sick.

“Mark, you dumbass.” She reached over and felt his forehead. “Je- _sus_!”

Mark cracked his eyes open.  
“Wha’?” He mumbled.

“You’re burning up.” Beth said.

“I’m fine.” He said irritably. “It’ll pass. I had fevers all the time on Mars. they’re not a big deal.”

“You’re not on Mars anymore.”

“I’m _fine.”_

 

There was a snarl in Mark’s voice, a note of something aggressive Beth had never hear before from him, and did  _not_  like. At all. She looked at him silently for a moment, watching his face melt from upset and irritated to tired and clearly a little regretful.

 

Beth got up and put her mug in the sink.

 

“I’m getting Beck.” She said, already leaving the common room, and not giving Mark any choice in the matter. “Stay put.”


	2. on his knees and out of luck

Mark woke up with a pounding headache and dry mouth. He stared blearily at the ceiling of his room. Months ago (years ago) he had put up pictures on the ceiling to look at when he couldn’t sleep. His mom and dad. His best friend from college. His dog. The first time he had flown in a T-38, in the backseat with Rick in the cockpit. The longer he stared the more aware he became of the fact that his sheets were wet. He reached up and felt the back of his neck.

Ah.

He had sweat through his shirt.

Hey, at least he hadn’t wet his bed, right?

Small victories. 

 

He rolled out of his bunk, fully aware of how _utterly_ shitty he felt. His back seemed to protest the sudden movement, and fuck, he definitely had a temperature. As he stumbled to the bathroom, Mark briefly considered calling Chris, and decided against it. Wasn’t the first time he’d had a fever. He’d get through it.

 

He knew he had to eat, but, honestly, nothing sounded appetizing. He walked into the kitchen, fully intending to maybe get a pack, open it, and then throw it out for the sake of the meal counts working in favor of the calorie counter Chris was making him keep. But then he walked into the kitchen and found Beth sitting at the table, stirring a cup of coffee. Dammit, she would 100% tell Chris. She had a pen tucked behind her ear and the half bun she had her hair in was messier than usual. She looked at him observantly as he crossed the kitchen and Mark tried to not look as in pain as he felt.

 

“You look like complete shit.” Beth said bluntly. Mark stopped in his tracks to stare at her, irritated. Yeah, so the fuck what?

 

“Good morning to you too, Beth.” Mark said wearily. He grabbed a juice pack from the cabinet. That’d count towards his daily caloric intake, right? He sat next to her at the table and attempted to poke the straw through the top.

Miss.

Goddamit.

Miss.

His depth perception must have been off or something.

Miss.

“Give it to me, dummy.” Beth sounded half exasperated. She grabbed the juice pack and poked the straw through. Mark glared at her, his irritation growing exponentially.

“Don’t you, like, have to be nice to me now?” He snapped.

“I am being nice.” Beth scrunched her nose up. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Mark shrugged. He really, truly, was not in the mood. He took a sip of the juice. The table fell quiet. Beth was reading some article. The juice hit his stomach wrong and Mark gave up, putting it on the table.

 

Damn, his eyes were dry. Mark shut them for just a second, leaning back in his chair. He wasn’t sleeping, he was just resting his eyes.

 

Okay, maybe he was sleeping.

“ _Je_ -sus!”

He cracked his eyes back open. Beth had a hand on his forehead and was clearly worried.

“Wha’?” He mumbled.

“You’re burning up.” Beth said.

“I’m fine.” He said irritably. “It’ll pass. I had fevers all the time on Mars. they’re not a big deal.”

“You’re not on Mars anymore.”

“I’m _fine.”_

 

There was a snarl in his voice. Mark heard it. Beth definitely heard it, because she snapped her hand back and stared at him.

 

Fuck.

 

Good job, Mark.

 

Beth got up after a minute and put her mug in the sink.

“I’m getting Beck.” She said, already leaving the common room. “Stay put.” She cut off his response and left.

 

Well, this was going well, wasn’t it?

 

* * *

 

In the time it took Chris to follow Beth back to the common area, Mark had migrated from the table to the couch, where he was laying now, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube Chris had left there.

 

Beth wasn’t being dramatic- not that she ever was. Mark looked horrible. His hair was sticking up in odd places, his clothing was hanging off of him. He was paler than usual, which made the dark circles under his eyes even more prevalent.

 

“Hi.’” Chris said. He crouched down next to Mark and unzipped his kit.

Mark only took his eyes off the cube for a second, to give Chris a look.

“I’m fine.” He said plainly. 

“You are _not-”_ Beth said from behind Chris. Chris held up his hand to quiet her, and he heard an audible noise of frustration.

“So, who went to medical school here, me or you?” Chris asked.

“You.”

“And what medical school did I go to?”

“The Dumbass School for Bossy Doct-”

“ _What medical school did I go to?”_

“.....Yale.”

“Exactly.” Chris grinned a little bit and snapped a pair of gloves on. Yeah, he was worried about Mark. Of course he was worried about Mark. But showing his anxiety wasn’t gonna do Mark any good, perceptive as he was. “ So why don’t I be the judge of that?”   
“Or you could just trust me.” Mark muttered. But all the same, he allowed Chris to scan his forehead for his temperature without further complaint.

“101.2” He read off the display. He put the thermometer down and looked at Mark, who seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. “Ya got a fever.”

“I know that,” Mark said. He twisted the Rubik’s cube with much more force than he needed to. “I’m just saying it’s not a big deal. I got fevers all the time on Mars. It’ll go away.”

Wait, what?

“All the time?” Chris asked.   
Mark shrugged.

“At least six or seven fevers. Like I said, not a big deal.”

“Uh huh.” Chris said. He pulled his tablet out of the kit and began going through Mark’s medical history. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Musta forgot.” Mark mumbled.

“Mmm.”

After almost a decade working for the US Air Force and NASA, Chris had completely mastered the noncommittal noise of neither agreement nor disagreement. Was utterly essential to dealing with hardheaded dumbasses.

  
Chris took the stethoscope out of his bag.

“Shirt off.” He instructed. Mark actually did roll his eyes, but complied with Chris’ orders, slowly peeling the oversized shirt off his torso. Chris was trained not to visibly react, but even so, the gruesome bruises that covered his chest and ribs, the way his clavicles jutted out from under his skin, made Chris a little nauseous. Mark had been through hell. (and it was Chris’ fault.)

“Sit up straight.”

Mark swung his legs off the couch and straightened up.

“Deep breaths, Mark.”

Mark seemed to chuckle humorlessly. He had three broken ribs. That was going to be a little difficult. 

“I’ll do my best.” He said. He was even smiling. Chris could see a slight, extremely slight glint of Mark in there.

 

Yeah, just what Chris thought. Mark’s breathing was labored, a little crackly. Definitely something wonky going on, respiratorily.

He put the stethoscope away and made a note on his tablet.

“So, give it to me straight, Doc.” Mark pulled the t-shirt back over his head, visibly wincing. “Am I gonna live?”

“Unfortunately.” Chris deadpanned. He zipped his kit back up. “Lucky for you, my friend, my centrifuge needs some attending to, so you get to escape me for a couple hours. But you’re on house arrest. Go get some rest, and come find me after dinner.”

“Aye aye, cap’n.” Mark saluted sarcastically, and got up from the couch, tossing the Rubik’s cube over his shoulder.

 

Chris watched him go. Watched how he favored his right leg. How slowly he moved. Then he got up and slung his kit over his shoulder.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Beth had her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

“Of course he is. He’s Mark. How could he be anything but?” Chris smiled and bumped her shoulder with his. Beth gave half a smile back.

 

Yeah, Chris’ centrifuge had finished a rotation. But he had other, more important tests to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu @ ta1k-less on tumblr. Im a massive space nerd but also like a lot of other things nerd. it's a good time.


	3. night has always pushed up day

“ ‘Get some rest’ I’ll show him who needs to get rest.” Mark lowered himself towards his quarters. “Aw, dammit.” 

The compulsion to narrate his every thought out loud had apparently not disappeared instantaneously the minute he floated through the airlock. 

 

He opened the door to his room, pulled his shirt off, and collapsed back onto the bed. 

“ _Fu-_ ” goddamn his fucking ribs.

Mark hissed in pain and grappled at his bruised chest. 

“Fastest man in the history of spaceflight my  _ ass. _ ” He muttered as the pain subsided and he could move again. 

“Hot mike, Watney.” Vogel’s voice came through his ear. He must have jostled it.

“What, NASA doesn’t want to hear me complain?” Mark groaned, pulling his covers to his chin. 

Vogel laughed over the comm. “Even if they don’t, they deserve to.” He said. 

“Retweet, Vogel.” Martinez yelled in his ear. 

“Ow, Jesus, Martinez!” Mark yelped. “I already got some bad lungs and my ribs are shit. You wanna take my hearing, too?”

“Sorry buddy, I’m just really passionate about my dislike for-” 

“Alright boys, cool it with the mics.” Lewis said, though Mark could hear a smile on her face.

“You got it, Cap. Space pirate, signing off for a nap.” Mark reached up and muted his earpiece. The familiar whine shut off, and Mark was left with the expanding silence of his quarters.

 

All in all, he had spent about forty-five minutes out of bed. 

Not bad. 

Now that he was back in bed Mark was free to feel every goddamn ache and stab in his betraying body. This dumb fever was making his brain feel like how his computer ran if he forgot to turn the fans on.The back of his throat tickled, and he coughed slightly.

On his right forearm, there was a scar about an inch long, couple centimeters wide. He'd sliced it open yanking a shelf off the Hab wall. It had bled like a motherfucker, but Mark remembered being only vaguely irritated that he’d have to stop working to irrigate it, staple it closed, and bandage it.

That had been a long time ago. 

“Oh, I get it.” Mark mumbled, running his fingers over the jagged edges of the scar. “You can survive being impaled by an antenna, ½ rations, probably way too much Vicodin, 560 sols on a fucking desolate planet, and being shot into space under tarp, but a couple broken ribs are too much for you, huh? That’s what’s gonna do you in?” 

 

Oddly enough, his body didn’t feel the need to respond to his diatribe, except that his head pounded particularly sharply when he tried to look at his computer screen. 

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Mark said. “You wanna sleep, I got it.” 

He shut the screen, turned off the light, and fell back asleep.

 

* * *

“Hey, where’s Mark?” Chris asked. The microwave beeped and Beth took out Chris’ curry to put in her oatmeal. 

“I haven’t seen him today.” Lewis said. She put down her tablet. “How’s he doing?” 

Chris shrugged and sat down at the table, shoving Martinez’ feet off his chair as he did so. 

“Not great.” He admitted. “I’ll send you his most recent stats and notes from my last physical.” 

“Anything that we should know about?” Vogel asked. 

“Yeah, if you see him out of bed, tell him I’m gonna give him the back of my hand.” Beth shook her fist in faux-anger. Chris rolled his eyes at her.

“That, but also just be watching his breathing when you’re with him. If he gets wheezy or starts coughing, or is even just breathing abnormally, call me.” 

“Got it, doc.” Martinez saluted with his fork. 

 

Chris opened his bowl of curry and resisted the urge to dump it into the trash. He pushed the thought of  _ 300 more days of this  _ out of his mind and took a bite.

“So, Beth, you haven’t seen him?”    
Beth shook her head.

“No, not since lunch.” 

“Mmm.”

Chris pulled his tablet out. He’d gotten Mark to wear the shirts with biofeedback sensors, just to keep an eye on his respiratory and heart rate. He clicked over to Mark’s profile.

Huh. That’s weird.

“What’s wrong, Beck?” Lewis leaned forward. 

“Mark’s profile hasn’t updated since lunch.” Chris said. He reloaded the page. 

 

O2 Sats: 0

Heart Rate: 0

Temperature: 70 F

 

Okay, maybe there was a reasonable explanation for this. 

 

Or maybe Mark was dead. 

 

Chris could feel his heart pounding. 

“Commander, with me now.” He ordered, pushing away from the table and sprinting towards the door. Besides him, Lewis had the most medical training. Lewis shot up and was behind him in a second. Chris ignored the shouts of protest and questions behind him and began climbing as fast as he could. 

“Grab my kit.” He said. Lewis ran towards med-bay and Chris skidded to a stop in front of Mark’s quarters. He had pinned a goofy picture of him and Martinez up, above his name plate. 

_ Please don’t be dead please don’t be dead  _

He pulled the door open.

 

The room was dark. Chris flipped the switch. 

Mark was facedown on the bed, one arm hanging limply off the side. 

“Mark?” Chris rushed forward and reached for his wrist. “Mark, Mark, can you hear me?” 

 

His wrist so goddamn bony. Chris turned over his hand and felt for a pulse, noting dimly an ugly scar above it. There was something there, something somewhat strong. 

“Oh, thank  _ god _ .” Chris breathed and let his head fall forward onto Mark’s mattress.

 

“Wha’?” Mark’s head lifted up and he turned to look at Chris blearily, shifting his gazing confusedly from Chris to his wrist. “What’s going on?” 

He sat up in bed- slowly, painfully- and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Oh. 

Yeah, so no shirt with biofeedback sensors would in fact equal no biofeedback. 

That makes sense. 

“Thought you were dead.” Chris groaned. “Your sats, they were-” 

“Got it! Got the kit-” Lewis dropped the kit in front of Chris. “Care to explain what’s going on?” 

“Yeah, Beck, what’s going on?” Mark rubbed his eyes and squinted at him. 

“His sats were at zero.” Chris felt a little stupid. “I assumed something was actually wrong, instead of, oh, I don’t know, that he had taken off the shirt I specifically asked him to keep on.” 

“Oh.” Mark said. “I forgot. Sorry.” He only looked a little remorseful. Whatever. Chris would take what he could get. 

“You need to be monitored.” Chris crossed his arms. “Until you’re up within normal range again.” 

“I was just taking a nap. Which you told me to take!” Mark was clearly irritated. “I-” 

He was cut off by a cough. Not too harsh, not too long, but enough that it caused him to hunch over in pain. 

 

“This is why I was worried.” Chris sat next to Mark and guided him to sit up straighter. “Your lungs.” 

 

“Is everything handled, here, Beck?” Lewis said. Chris looked back. Lewis’ eyes was raking over Mark’s bare torso, over every visible rib and abrasion and deep bruise.

“Yes, we’re fine.” Chris said.

“Good. Please come to my quarters when you’re finished here.” 

“Will do.” 

She left. 

“Damn, what’s her problem?” Mark asked as Chris took out his stethoscope and placed it on his chest. “Looks like she saw a ghost. Oh, wait.” Mark made a grand, sweeping gesture over his emaciated frame. “She has.” 

  
He grinned, but there was something a little lifeless in his eyes that made Chris uneasy.

“You’re not a ghost, and you’re also not funny.” He said. “Deep breath.” 

“You’re _ trying _ to kill me, Beck!” Mark said dramatically. 

 

He had gotten worse. The crackling was back and Chris could practically hear the constriction in his airways in the faint wheeze of every breath he took. He put the stethoscope around his neck and looked at Mark. 

“So, what’s the verdict, Judge Judy? Twenty to life?” 

“Something like that.” Chris said distractedly. 

Chris made his decision fairly quickly. 

“Anything you’re particularly attached to in here?” He asked, standing up and picking up his pack. 

“Uh, yeah, my bed.” Mark made a face. “Why?” 

“I’m admitting you.” 

“Admitting me? What?”

“Med-bay. Till further notice. C’mon, let’s go.” 

Mark groaned. 

“So first you leave me on Mars, and now you’re kicking me out of my room. I know you’re trying to keep me alive or whatever, Chris, but  _ god _ , at what cost?” 

Chris rolled his eyes and nodded towards the door. 

“Get a move on, drama queen.”

 

That’s when he noticed Mark’s sheets.


	4. must know life to see decay

The sheets were soaked through. 

“Mark?” He asked levelly. “How long have you been sweating through your sheets?”

Mark shrugged. 

“I don’t know. It happened last night too.” 

Chris crouched back down and felt Mark’s forehead. 

“You’re burning up.” He said. 

“Yeah, we’ve established that I have a fever.” Mark said. 

“C’mon, med-bay  _ now. _ ” 

Mark made to get up by himself- until Chris noticed him sway forward. 

“Whoa, dude-” Chris grabbed his arm. “Let me help.” 

“Seriously? You’re not even gonna let me walk myself to my doom?” Mark asked, scrunching up his face. But he leaned on Chris anyways, rubbing his eyes. 

“Sorry, Watney.” Chris said, slightly sympathetically. “NASA, and by extension me, are just too invested in not letting you fall flat on your face.” 

“Fuck NASA.” Mark mumbled. 

“Yeah.” Chris agreed as they slowly stepped out of Mark’s quarters. “Fuck NASA.” 

 

* * *

 

Given that every crew member had been screened extensively for potential issues, NASA didn’t foresee the need for very much emergency space medicine. Of course, they also didn’t foresee abandoning their botanist on Mars for over a year. That kinda complicated matters. 

 

Regardless, NASA was nothing if not (overly) cautious. Med-bay was well stocked and adjacent to Chris’ living quarters. 

 

“Alright,” Chris grunted as he helped Mark sit on the bed. “Lay down.”

Mark complied without a protest, which honestly worried Chris the worst.  He pulled the blanket up over Mark’s body. They hadn’t bothered putting the shirt back on, and Mark’s destroyed torso was on full display. 

“See something you like?” Mark waggled his eyebrows, which would have been funnier if his eyes weren’t half-closed and bloodshot and his face flushed with fever. 

“Yeah, free real estate for my sensors.” Chris shot back, opening a nearby drawer. 

Mark groaned. 

“Can’t I just, like, tell you when my heart stops beating?” 

“Nope.” 

“No trust in anyone these days.” 

 

Chris ignored him and began to apply the electrodes to Mark’s chest. He must have pressed too hard, because Mark winced and inhaled sharply. 

“Sorry. You okay?” Chris took his hands off. 

“Mm-hmm.” Mark nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just seems to be harder to...catch my breath lately.” 

“I know.” Chris said. He attached a couple more electrodes. “That’s why you’re in here.” 

“Hotel California.” Mark cracked his eyes open and gave Chris a look like he was waiting to see if Chris would take the bait. Chris looked back, quirked an eyebrow, and pulled the blanket back over Mark’s chest. 

“Why’s that?” 

“You can check in any time you’d like, but you can never leave.” Mark had a shit eating grin on his face and Chris resisted to grab his cheeks and smush it off. 

“You’re most definitely leaving here, buddy. I want my room back eventually.” Chris settled for taking out the thermometer and scanning Mark’s forehead again. It beeped. 102.1 

“Your fever’s up.” He said. 

“Okay. It’ll go away eventually.” 

“Or I could start you on IV ibuprofen and antibiotics.” Chris didn’t wait for a response to take out an IV kit from the drawer. 

“I guess you could do that.” Mark said. He settled back onto the bed and held his arm out. 

“I’m yours for the taking.” He said dramatically. 

Chris inserted the needle into the crook of his arm and taped it into place, before withdrawing a blood sample. He connected the IV tubing to the port, flushed it, and hung up the bags, adding saline just for kicks. 

“How’s your breathing?” Chris asked, placing his blood sample into a rack on the counter. 

“Hurts.” Mark admitted. “Feels a little like there’s a weight on my chest.” 

“Your O2 sats aren’t quite low enough to warrant extra oxygen, but if it’ll make you more comfortable-” 

“No, I’m okay. I kinda just want to sleep.” 

“Okay.” Chris crossed his arms. “I’m going to go talk to Lewis and run some tests for you. Keep your monitors on this time.”   
“No promises.” Mark mumbled, eyes already closing. 

Chris stood up and turned off the overhead light, leaving just a small bar light on over the bed. Mark was already dead asleep, the only sound in the room the steady beeping of the infusion pump. Chris reached forward and brushed the sweaty blonde hair off of Mark’s forehead. Chris could see some white in there that most definitely hadn’t existed before Mars.    
God, that haircut he’d given himself was atrocious. 

“Get better, Mark.” Chris whispered. 

He grabbed his tablet and headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

* * *

 

Beth was sitting on the floor across from him.    
“Hi,” She scrambled up. “What’s going on? Is he okay?” Beth looked terrified. Given that she had been the one rolling her eyes at Chris when he was freaked out pre-launch, Chris could tell she was pretty deeply affected. 

He reached up and flipped on his comms. 

“Mark’s fine, everyone. No immediate danger, just a malfunction with his monitors.” 

Beth breathed an obvious sigh of relief. 

“Thank god.” Martinez said from the bridge. “I did _ not _ rescue his dumb ass from Mars just to have him die on me four days later. What a waste of fuel that’d be.” 

“Astute take, Rick.” Chris half-smiled. He flipped his comms off again. 

“So he’s totally okay?” Beth said. 

“No. He’s sick.” Chris admitted. “I moved him to med-bay.” 

“Could I…” She gestured to the med-bay door. “Sit with him?” 

“He’s asleep right now.” Chris said. “But yeah, if you’d like. It’d be good to have a pair of eyes on him while I talk to Lewis.” 

Beth cracked a grin and pushed past him into med-bay. Chris watched her settle down next to Mark, feet on the edge of the bed, and then turned to go find Lewis.

 

* * *

 

“Come in.” 

Chris opened the door to Lewis’ quarters. She was sitting at her desk, typing a report. She gestured to the other chair. 

“Update me.” She said.

“Fever of 102, heart rate is elevated and O2 is down. I’m going to run some cultures to confirm, but I think Mark has bacterial pneumonia.” 

Lewis’ eyebrows furrowed.

“But how could that-” 

“Well, for one, almost every organ and system in Mark’s body is not functioning optimally.” 

“I could see that.” Lewis’ voice was clipped and her hands were held in tight fists. Chris could tell she was letting the guilt eat her alive. “He looks like a starvation victim. But worse.” 

“Yeah.” Chris agreed. “He does. He’s gained very little weight back. Now with him being sick, I’m worried he’s going to lose more.” 

“Do you have a plan?” 

“Feeding tube.” Chris said bluntly. When they did the near earth rendezvous, somebody had the foresight to restock the medical supplies with items that Mark specifically might need. And yes, a feeding tube had been on there. 

"Mark won't like that." Lewis said. 

"He'll like starving to death a lot less. Besides, it’s only a backup. Hopefully we’ll avoid that.” 

Lewis nodded. “Back to his lungs.” 

“Right. We’ve had nearly a year for our bacteria to mix and evolve. Mark’s essentially been quarantined. His immune system is already weak given his malnutrition. It’s not too big of a jump to think that when we re-introduced him to the Hermes system he picked up something, and it spiraled pretty quickly.”

Lewis looked at him thoughtfully. 

“Worst possible outcome?” She asked. Chris took a sharp breath. 

“He’s not strong enough to fight the infection, even with antibiotics. We lose him.” 

“Possibility of that happening?” 

“Higher than I’d like.” Chris said, trying to block out the idea of Mark, lifeless. “But we caught it early and I’m monitoring him closely. The dose of antibiotics I gave him are strong and we might be able to wipe this thing out.” 

“Okay.” Lewis said. “I’d like a report every morning and night and CC me on communications with the Flight Surgeon.” 

“Will do.” 

* * *

 

When Mark woke up, his mouth was full of cotton, his entire body felt like lead, and somehow, he was  _ comfortable  _ for once? He shifted around- those Hab beds weren’t exactly luxurious- and at once was hit with sharp stabs in his ribs and tugs on his arm. The air, too. Holy fuck. Why the hell doesn't the air smell of shit and ammonia? It was clean and canned. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.    
  
His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his ears. There's a white ceiling above him. But the rest of the room...it wasn’t the Hab. There are pictures on the wall, people he recognized- Johansson, him, and Martinez laughing about something- people he doesn't. There's a laptop on the desk. There's an entire wall of medical supplies. But most importantly, there's Beth. She's typing on a laptop.   
  
Oh. Right. Rescued. Not on Mars. Alive.    
  


Mark tried to sit up, and immediately felt something in his throat. He coughed, a harsh, hacking thing, and squeezed his eyes shut to stop the involuntary tears of pain from falling. 

“Mark?” There was the sound of a laptop slamming shut and he felt small, cool hands on the back of his neck. “What’s going on? Should I get Chris?”

 

He couldn’t respond. His throat seemed to have gotten impossibly tiny. 

_ Fuck.  _

 

“Chris? Chris? Mark can’t breathe- what do I do?” Beth sounds panicked. 

 

His earpiece was out. Mark doesn’t hear the response. He’s too focused on not panicking about the lack of oxygen getting to his lungs, which, by the way, have started to burn like someone made him swallow a match. 

 

“Okay, okay, where is it?” 

“Got it.” 

 

Something was shoved over his mouth-  _ breathe, Watney-  _ something hissed and there’s a cool flow of air in his mouth. His lungs seem to relax once they realize they have extra help, and within a few desperately deep breaths, Mark can open his eyes again. 

 

He blinked tears out of the way, and Beth’s extremely worried face swam into his vision. 

‘Hi,” he choked out. 

“Hi, dummy.” She said. “You really scared me.” She pushed sweaty hair off his forehead, and god, her hand is so cool. 

“Sorry.” He said. She wrapped the cord of the mask around the back of his head. “Didn’t mean too.” 

Chris burst through the door. 

“What happened?” He asked. He’s looking at the monitors. 

“He woke up and started to cough and then he was hunched over and couldn’t breathe.” Beth said, stepping back to let Chris forward. 

Chris ran fingers over his chest, his neck, and Mark can’t help but shiver. He’s so overheated, every touch felt like ice. 

“Beth, go get the steroid inhaler from the top drawer. I’m going to set up the X-ray.” 

Beth nodded once and grabbed an inhaler from the drawer. Chris got a box out of the cabinet and began attaching it to the computer. 

“Two deep inhales and hold for ten seconds, Mark.” Chris instructed. Beth helped him take off him the mask-Mark immediately missed the cool flow of oxygen- and held the inhaler to his mouth. The medicine took effect almost immediately. Mark took a deep breath. 

“Missed that.” He said breathlessly. 

“Missed what.” Chris didn’t turn around. 

“Oxygen.” 

“Yeah.” Chris agreed. “I’d miss it too.” 

Beth had a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the light pressure on every square of his heated skin. 

Feels good. 

He leaned into her subconsciously. God, he just wanted to sleep. Preferably with someone’s arm around him. He closed his eyes and let the whir of the machines drift him away. 


	5. I won't rot, no

“He’s out.” Beth whispered.

“Good. I gotta run some x-rays.” 

Beth carefully extricated her arm from around Mark’s neck. Mark winced in his sleep and the pain on Beth’s face was palpable. 

“How long has he gone without…?” She asked. 

“Without touching another human?” Chris finished. 

He’d slipped fairly easily into treatment-mode, meaning that, conveniently, most of his emotions got pushed into a little box in the far corner of his brain to be dealt with later. “A long, long time.” He slipped on a lead smock. 

“I’ve only got one smock, so go out to the corridor and I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

Beth nodded and left, leaving Chris to lay Mark flat on his back and position him correctly. He put the machine over him and flipped it on, taking several images, and then switched off. 

“Clear!” He called out. 

Beth came back in. 

“How’s he looking?” She asked, going immediately back to his bedside. 

“Let’s take a look.” He flipped open his laptop and pulled up the images. “Mmm.” He said. 

“Mmm?” Beth made a face at him. “Sorry, I don’t speak Doctor.” 

“I mean mmm.” Chris said. There was suspicious cloudiness in both of Mark’s lungs that, even for his locked emotions box, made Chris’ stomach churn a little bit. “I need to send these to Dr. Shields. There’s people on earth with far more training with this than me.” 

“Okay.” Beth said. “In the meantime, Mr. “I survived 1.5 years on a desolate planet by myself and now I’m really sick and kind of look like a kicked dog” is breaking my heart. Can I just, like, hold his hand?” 

Chris huffed a laugh, and turned to look at Mark, head flopped over to the side, breath fogging up his oxygen mask. Around his eyes had darkened into a deep purple and any color he had gained the past few days was completely gone. 

“Yeah,” Chris said, mentally taking the playbook that a dozen years of the Air Force and NASA had drilled into him and throwing it out the proverbial window. “You can hold his hand.”  

Beth smiled and crossed the room, slipping one of her small hands into Mark’s.

 

* * *

“How is he?” Lewis stood at the foot of Mark’s bed, her face molded into perfectly emotionless stone. 

“Not great.” Chris said. “That coughing fit earlier irritated his airways pretty bad. I’ve got him on steroids and oxygen and sent his images and blood work to Mission Control. I’m waiting to hear back.” 

“Holy _ shit!”  _ Martinez came through the door. Chris jabbed at the sign on the wall that read,  _ Sanitize hands before coming into Med-bay! _ and Martinez doubled back for the hand sanitizer. 

“He looks terrible.” Martinez said as he came back, rubbing his hands. 

Lewis nodded. 

“I know.” Chris said. “I’m keeping a close eye on him but he’s just so beat down from the past year.” 

“We all are.” Lewis said. “It’s been a long mission.” 

It was silent for a few minutes. Martinez was even uncharacteristically quiet, his hands gripping Mark’s bedrail. 

“You know what Mark told me, the night he got back, after Chris has checked him out and he’d showered?” He said. “He said he’d gone through all of our personal stuff, looking for anything that might be helpful.” 

“Yeah?” Chris said. In some part of his brain he knew that getting Martinez to talk about things that bothered him only worked if Chris framed it as a conversation. 

“He went through my laptop. Found some of the home videos Marissa sent me. He told me he used to play them in the background while he worked in the Hab. Made him feel like there were people just in the other room, talking and laughing and shit. Said made him feel like he wasn’t so alone for a little bit.” 

Chris noticed how tight Martinez was gripping the handrail. He glanced at Lewis and pretended not to see the redness that had appeared in her eyes. 

“He went through something none of us are ever going to understand.” Chris said softly. “We don’t really know how it’s going to affect him. The best thing we can do is make sure he knows he’s never going to be alone like that again.” 

“No.” Lewis said with a steel jaw and red eyes. “no, he won’t.”

 

* * *

Mark awoke, as seemed to be standard nowadays, with Chris’ worried face swimming into his vision. 

“Hey,” Chris cracked a grin. “How are you feeling?”

Mmph. Loaded question.

“Okay.” Mark said hoarsely. The mask had been replaced by a thin cannula in his nose. “Alright, I think.” 

Chris nodded. 

“I did some X-rays while you were out and saw some really suspicious cloudiness in both your lungs. I’m fairly certain you’ve contracted bacterial pneumonia.” 

“Uh,” Mark said, attempting to set up in bed and wincing. “How?” 

“I’ve got a working theory, nothing substantial. I’m waiting to hear back from Dr. Shields about the best course of treatment. 

“Okay.” 

Mark pulled the blanket higher. Goddamit it was cold in here. Chris turned to his laptop and began typing. 

It was quiet for a while.

Fuck, his ribs hurt. 

And his  _ back.  _ It was killer. That little maneuver he had done with his suit had slammed him into the side of the MAV. 

“ _ But get this, Commander...I’d get to fly around like Iron Man.”  _

Mark laughed, the sudden movement jolting his ribs painfully. 

“What’s so funny?” Chris looked over from his laptop with a small smile on his lips. Those damn blues were what was funny. 

“Did you ever see those Avengers movies?” He asked. Weird, his skin seemed to be radiating heat. 

“Yeah.” Chris said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why?” 

“I always thought you looked….” Mark coughed. His fucking ribs were trying to murder him. “You looked like Bucky.” 

Chris huffed a little laugh. 

“Yeah? I’ll take that.” 

Oy, this fever. Mark squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid them of that pesky dry heat. He’d always thought Bucky was pretty cute.

“Oh yeah?” Chris’ seemed amused. Mark cracked his eyes open and found Chris leaning over him, checking some tube with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Bucky’s pretty cute?” 

“I said that out loud?” 

“Mm-hmm. Never letting that go, by the way.” Chris laughed. 

“Fuck.” Mark said. Chris fiddled with something, then scanned his forehead. The thermometer beeped, and Chris’ expression molded itself into decidedly more neutral than a grin. 

“Your fever’s gone up.” He said. “I’m gonna up your ibuprofen.” 

He went around the side of the bed, looking pretty wavy. 

“Mm.” Mark managed. When did the room get this hot? 

“Mark? You with me?” 

Everything felt strangely heavy. 

“Mark?  _ Shit, he’s seizing _ .” 

His bed was going flat.    
“Martinez, get to med-bay NOW!”

And everything went dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u tell i just rewatched captain america? anyways sebastian stan is EXTREMELY HOT.   
> Also sorry about that cliffhanger. kinda.


End file.
